


Reenactors, Chapter 8, Conclusion

by SirJosephBanksFRS



Series: Reenactors [8]
Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirJosephBanksFRS/pseuds/SirJosephBanksFRS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the outset of the engagement between the <i>Shannon</i> and <i>Chesapeake</i>, Jack and Stephen find themselves inexplicably on the deck of <i>USS Constitution</i> in Boston two hundred years in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reenactors, Chapter 8, Conclusion

_**22 September 2013** _

_**The summer is for all intent and purpose over and we are still here with no end in sight. Jack’s arm has begun to trouble him more and I worry for him. It is slightly worse with each day that goes by and he has very little strength in his right hand. He can lift his right arm scarcely to chest height.** _

_**Jack went sailing many days with Mr. Dupont, who paid him to skipper his yachts to glorious victory in a variety of regattas, winning him the trophies he had long coveted. He offered to put Jack on retainer as some sort of administrator of his yachts, an offer Jack declined. Mr. Dupont made him a present of thousands of dollars for each trophy, which Jack wished to refuse, but given our circumstances, accepted unhappily, for it vividly marked the social disparity between them. Not that this fact is not self-evident, but it injures Jack’s pride nonetheless.** _

_**Jack has been reading the history of modern warfare, a subject I wish he had never seen fit to investigate. It has made him more melancholy than anything I have ever seen. He told me in utter outrage that civilised nations now routinely kill women and children in the pursuit of tactical goals and dismiss their deaths as what they call “collateral damage.” He was further outraged to find our “hosts,” that is to say, our former captors have been killing women and children in warfare for almost a hundred years. He was even more devastated to learn the unthinkable: yes, the United Kingdom and the Royal Navy have done so as well, telling me with great emotion about a battle of the twentieth century called Okinawa, where between 40,000 - 150,000 civilians were killed, many of them women and children. It was a dark day for him. He seems to be having some extreme metaphysical crisis about the meaning of his existence as Jack Aubrey qua warrior and Royal Navy officer.** _

_**The Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority has given me $5,000 to sign a paper releasing them from liability for the accident with the bus. I have no idea if this was a large or small sum for the circumstances. Apparently, people are extremely litigious now and lawsuits are within reach of virtually all people. These lawsuits apparently profoundly affect many aspects of modern American life. Brian Brown told me that I should have gone to court and gotten significantly more money. Given our situation and the kind of questions it may have raised, I accepted their first offer. They also paid the bill for the hospital, which was more than $18,000. How is such a thing possible for fourteen hours in hospital? I suppose the fact that these incredible machines and advances exist that give the physician God-like powers is the reason that the fees are such immense sums. I only wish I had been conscious to actually observe all of it.** _

_**I still do not really apprehend this currency and how it compares to our money. I was not very accomplished with these calculations in our own time. Mr. Brown did a search for me, using what he called an “inflation” calculus on the computing machine now, which shows how much money was worth in the past (virtually always more, apparently) and the present. My combined income when we arrived here was perhaps £200 a year which I was informed is the equivalent of £7,403 today, which is worth 11,378 American dollars. That means my fourteen hours in hospital cost more than a year’s salary in my profession. Mother of God, I cannot imagine how such a thing is possible or how people are not ruined seeking medical treatment. To think I never took a fee from a patient in my entire career. There is something apparently called medical insurance and this figures heavily into how much any particular medical consultation costs. Jack has this insurance through the state of Massachusetts and I do not. Katharine said there is some Massachusetts based insurance that I could get, but I have not learned about it yet.** _

_**I have forced myself perhaps unnaturally to not think in terms of what the future holds for Jack and myself since it appears we are to be here forever. I was greatly taken aback to hear Jack describe himself as a widower. This is, of course precisely correct. We have not spoken at all between us of the obvious: what will our future be and what type of future do we as relatively young men foresee? It is too overwhelming and daunting, truth be told. We take life one day at a time, day after day after day.** _

_**I believe it has been far harder for Jack to face the reality of his loss than it has been for me, even though Diana and I were to be wed within mere hours. How long does one mourn losing one’s whole life? Katharine has been in mourning for three years after her husband’s death and he was sick for years before that. Jack lost everything in an instant.** _

_**It has affected him profoundly. His normal lasciviousness is almost completely gone, perhaps because women as he knew them are gone or perhaps because of his grief. He has had twenty-first century American women make overtures to him that he has pointedly ignored. He has admired women from across a plaza, but he wants nothing to do with them face to face. I told Katharine to tell Hillary Cabot that he is newly widowed so that she should stop her matchmaking lest it upset him and his reaction damage their relations. I told her that it happened six months ago and that Jack was still at the point that he could not discuss his loss with anyone.** _

_**It is worse than that, of course, because it happened three months ago and he lost everything. Every friend, every family member, his children, his career, his entire life. I do not know why it seems that it is so much worse for him than myself. I have lost my career as well, my friends as well, my would be wife as well, my future as well. But somehow, my equanimity is less disturbed than Jack’s. Perhaps it is because I have at least profited from the trade-off in terms of slaking my thirst for knowledge. Jack has not profited in the least.** _

_**All that which he valued in life principally is now obsolete. His country is now a second rate power, his occupation nonexistent, his rank gone, which surely chafes a soul so imbued with the class system in which he was born. All he has now is me and we cling to each other like two sailors on a deserted island in the midst of a typhoon. He has not written one word to record his experiences since we have been here, since he only habitually wrote to Sophie. I am amazed that he has not wept but he is Stoicism itself.** _

 

"Stephen, are you near finishing your book?" Jack said, coming from the bathroom after his evening shower, a towel around his waist and sitting next to Stephen who was lying in bed reading.

"More or less." Jack leant forward and kissed his neck. "Are you wet still? Pray do not drip on my book."

"I am almost entirely dry. What are you reading?"

"Tis just a novel in Catalan." Stephen said. He put it on the table and rolled over, facing Jack. "Shall I comb your hair, joy?"

"I think it still too damp." Jack could not adequately attend to his hair with one hand and holding his left arm up so long made him extremely fatigued. Stephen now plaited his queue and undid it at bedtime. "Shall we sup at home or abroad?"

"It is the same to me." Stephen said. He sat up and touched Jack's hair to apprise its dampness. "What should you prefer?"

"We might go out for lobster, if you please. It is going for a song now at Warren Tavern, four dollars per pound, with three other dishes and a sweet. I was there for dinner with Commander Bonner last week and it was quite good. The galley loosened all the lobster meat for me."

"Then lobster it shall be, Jack." Stephen said."You should eat two of them drenched in butter." Jack smiled and his eyes shone.

"I never thought I should hear the words, "Jack Aubrey, pray do eat more," from Stephen Maturin's lips." He said, laughing. "I am quite cosseted by you and I will admit to enjoying it to a shameful degree. I never knew how pleasurable it would be to have you plait my queue." Jack took Stephen's hand in his own left hand. "Should you like to go to England, dear old Stephen? At the beginning of October? My hours shall be far less on the ship."

"How?"

"Mr. Dupont has a seventy-eight foot yacht he said I might sail there. I am certain that papers should be no issue."

"Jack, I do not think your arm is up to those exertions."

"What exertions? It has a motor."

"Surely there is not enough fuel to cross the north Atlantic?"

"Well, no..." Jack admitted.

"Is it not hurricano season?"

"Yes. But the weather forecasting now is astonishing, Stephen. They know the weather ten days in advance. Sure, there are still white squalls and such, but it is nothing like our time."

"What is your plan, Jack? Do we go for a visit or to stay permanently? How does Mr.Dupont get his yacht back? Where do we go once we are there? It is challenging maintaining the deception with the Americans, but they attribute everything to us being foreigners and are so ignorant of geography, history and everything else that you might tell them that you are the son of William Pitt and it signifies nothing." Stephen said and sighed. "What is the complement for this yacht?"

"Eleven for racing. I should say seven total should be more than enough. I know four who may be interested." Stephen shook his head.

"Jack, I am very sorry to say it, but I think you are not well enough. I do not like the look of your arm at all."

"If my arm came off?"

"In two months, perhaps."

"Stephen, I am agreeable. I defer to your judgement."

"Then we should make an appointment with a surgeon tomorrow for assessment. Perhaps with their physic, they may save it yet."

"No, Stephen, I mean for you to have it off. You, not them."

"Jack, alas, I cannot. It is impossible. I have no instruments, no drugs, no assistant. I cannot procure any of them."

"I am ashamed to admit that I am quite homesick." Jack said very quietly."The Americans have been most handsome to us, most kind and genial but..." Jack sighed.

"We could go home and it may be as changed or more changed than Boston. London is very different now from what it was." Stephen stroked the side of his face, looking into his eyes and leant forward and kissed him deeply. "If you wish to go home, joy, perhaps we could go in a flying machine."

"You astonish me, Stephen. You should feel safer in a gigantic flying machine up in the sky than on a ship? You who have crossed the Atlantic Ocean only God knows how many times?"

"We could be in London in seven hours, Jack. The issue is do we come back. We have money but it will not last long there. I fear it would be harder to get along there than here.” He stood up. “Come, let me dress you and we shall be off. That lobster sounds more voluptuous with every moment that goes by.” Stephen said. “Tonight, we shall open that bottle of Château Lafite for it is saluting day and you have no work in the morrow and we have some cheese and what they call "crackers," something of a hardtack."

"Quite right, it is Coronation Day. That do make me miss Killick." Jack said, thinking of their toasted cheese, which neither he nor Stephen could figure out how to make with a microwave or a hot plate and of Killick draining the dregs of his wine glass. "Well, we have all the privacy in the world, in any case." Jack said and he looked hopefully at Stephen.

"Yes and it shall be put to good use." Stephen said, amused to see how easily he could make Jack blush like a schoolgirl. "Now up with you before we both faint from hunger."

 

**_1 October 2013_ **

**_Jack’s arm is worse. We must see a doctor. I am filled with regret that I did not take it off back on the_ Constitution _. There have been so many ups and downs with it, but it is suddenly worse, virtually unmending before my eyes, though there is no infection. I asked Katharine Beales if she knew of a good surgeon at Massachusetts General Hospital and she did research and found the man who is the best but medicine in America has bizarre red tape particulars that I would never have conceived. Jack must wait months to see this man unless he is fortunate enough to be seen during another patient's cancellation at the last possible moment. The only other option is for him to go through the department of emergencies at the hospital where I was taken after being struck by the bus to be admitted to the hospital by Dr. Reddy or someone else on duty there, who would then have a doctor who works with the admitted sick patients, known as the hospitalist, to get this Dr. Berkson to come and look at Jack. Jack flatly refused this possibility. He does not want to see a twenty-first century doctor at all, believing he shall be fine if I treat him. I shall prevail in him seeing a surgeon though, for I cannot prescribe for him and he needs opiates directly._**

**_Jack is unconcerned and asks me why do I not just whip his arm off in our apartment. Why indeed forsooth? I have no instruments, no supplies, no surgeon's mate, no physic. Lacking laudanum and a strong and trained assistant, it would be nearly impossible to do this or any other type of major surgery. I would only consider it if death were immediately imminent, such as a sailor being pinned by the arm in a sinking ship and I should have no great faith in the consequences. The degree of trauma necessary with no sedation, the reflexive movements over which Jack should have no control whatever leads me to conclude it would be virtually impossible for me to accomplish it, for he is still far stronger than I am. There is no possibility of any assistance from anyone. I should not consider sedating him with alcohol because I have no faith it would work. He would need a tremendous amount of pure spirit and it thins the blood, making death by haemmorhage all the more likely. I have no catling nor even a lancet with me, let alone a bone saw. How would I even procure surgical tools? We are less than two miles from the most advanced hospital in the world, where they can sew a cornea onto an eye or re-attach a hand or foot with no loss of function and Jack trusts only me to lay my hands upon his body to do surgery. I am afraid that my trip to the hospital, as inconsequential as it was, filled him with an acute horror of hospitalization. Both the physical ramifications and his fear that he should be separated from me at all in hospital and the fear that I would then not be permitted to be with him strikes terror in his heart. Remembering my experience after Mahón, my dread at going in hospital in Gibraltar, I cannot but sympathise. I cannot deceive him and tell him I shall be with him every second. He knows it not to be true, in any case. He has developed anxiety in being separated from me, only feeling truly at ease without me in our apartment, on the ship and in the public library. I must get him to see a doctor for pain medication if nothing else. He makes never a complaint but I see the bellwethers in the corners of his eyes and his mouth and feel it as I lie next to him and he tosses and turns._ **

 

7 October 2013

 

As it happened, there was a cancellation for that day the next time Stephen called and he and Jack ended up in Dr. Richard Berkson’s office in the Sports Medicine complex of Massachusetts General Hospital.

There was a knock on the door and a short, heavy middle-aged man, obviously the surgeon, Dr. Berkson, came in, holding Jack’s file with two other people in white coats, a young woman and a young man, students of some type, Stephen deduced.

“Mister, uh, Melbury, I'm Dr. Rick Berkson." He said, looking at the chart. He held out his hand and Jack shook it very limply. “These are my residents, Dr. Ashley Chang and Dr. Farshat Aziz. And this is?” He said, looking over his glasses at Stephen.

“My friend.” Jack said sharply. “Dr. Stephen FitzGerald.” Dr. Berkson looked at Stephen and smiled insincerely at him and nodded.

“OK, so let’s have a look, shall we?” He said, approaching Jack and pulling his gown aside from his right shoulder. Stephen had un-bandaged it and helped Jack to don the examination gown. Dr. Berkson audibly gasped, went pale and put his hand over his mouth shaking his head.

“When did this happen?”

“Last December.” Jack said. “I was shot.”

“How?”

“It was an accident. I was on duty. I am retired from the Royal Navy.”

“Has it been this bad the whole time?”

“No. It was much better, it was mending well. It started getting worse at the end of September. It became more sore and it has gotten worse since then. My hand is quite weak.”

“You should be in the hospital. You should be in England in a military hospital. But you are not. Do we have any records?" Dr.Berkson said looking at the paper chart and talking to his residents."No? OK, we need blood work, we need to do blood tests to see what’s going on, we need x-rays. We can get those stat.” He said to the young woman, who started writing orders. “ I can give you some prescriptions for the pain. This is very serious. Mr. Melbury. If it doesn’t get better very soon, we’re talking amputation very near the shoulder. I don’t know who signed off on you traveling, but this is very, very bad." He turned to Stephen. “What is your specialty?”

“I am an internist.” Stephen said.

“Couldn’t you get him in here sooner?” Stephen shrugged. “The nurse will be in to take your blood. I think also you should try some dives in the hyperbaric chamber. You don’t have any sinus issues do you?” Jack looked towards Stephen, who shook his head no. “I want you to come back in one week and we will reassess.” Dr. Berkson said to his residents, the young woman writing on a tablet that served as an electronic chart, in addition to the paper one. “Dr. FitzGerald, may I speak to you outside?” Stephen stepped outside with him and noticed Dr. Berkson asked a plethora of questions but rarely expected answers. It seemed a way in which he thought aloud.

“You live together? Can you monitor him? Will you monitor him? Otherwise, I’m gonna admit him. I’d say there’s a less than fifty percent chance of him keeping that arm, though we're going to do what we can to save it. Does he have HIV or some other immunosuppression? He needs to see a wound care specialist. That isn’t your area of expertise?”

“Not exactly.” Stephen said.

"How long has it been this bad?"

"Three weeks."

“If there’s infection in that thing, and we don’t stop it, he’s going to die. That’s the only good reason to keep him out of the hospital, so he doesn’t get MRSA. I’ll give you my pager and if he gets worse at all, call me. OK? Any fever, any fetid odor at all, he needs to be admitted immediately. I’m starting him on Avelox and send him down to the wound guy now for some surface debridement.”

“Certainly.” Stephen said. He went back in with Jack.

“What a strange man.” Jack said. “He does not seem like a real doctor at all. Did he speak Latin to you, Stephen? Did you understand what he said?”

“Most of it. They will do assays to see why your arm is not healing, to see if there is an imbalance in your humours. They will give you medicines. There is some specialist for you to see to treat your wound. I am not certain about the rest.”

Jack spent the rest of the day being taken from one clinic in the hospital to the other. Dr. Berkson’s forceful personality resulted in Jack and Stephen being taken to the hyperbaric chamber two hours later.

“What is this machine?” Jack said looking at it. It looked like a very large metal tube with windows in the sides. Stephen found it fascinating and investigated it closely.

“You go inside and sit and the pressure is very high and there’s a lot of oxygen in the air. It will make your wound heal better. It's the same thing they use to prevent the bends in scuba diving.” The technician said. “Your friend can go in with you. You stay there for two hours.”

They sat in the claustrophobic quarters of the chamber.

“How remarkable,” Jack said, “In some ways, it feels like being on board the ship. Perhaps because it is so very cramped and the air is close. I miss it. At least we have some privacy here.”

“Have you been using your shoulder on the ship? Have you been heaving lines?”

“No. You saw what it was like, it was fine. It was much, much better. It has just gotten a little worse every day, since we got here.” Jack said, meaning in 2013. “Somehow, this reminds of my cot and I am so sleepy.”

“Rest, soul. Lie down. You have had a hard day.” Jack lay down and yawned.

“I wish I could nod off in my own cot on my own ship.” Jack said and promptly fell asleep.

A week later, Dr. Berkson looked at Jack’s shoulder without alarm but without any evident pleasure.

“Well, it looks better.” He said unenthusiastically. “I don’t think there’s any infection and that’s very good, that’s outstanding. But it’s not really healing, either. All your tests were normal. The wound care guy’s report is good as well. Are you ready to take another dive?” Jack nodded. “Make sure you take at least three grams of Vitamin C a day. How about the pain? Can you sleep? Is the oxycodone enough?”

“Yes.” Dr. Berkson stepped back, looking at Jack, his chin in his hand.

“You are one stoic man. I’ve had professional athletes in here crying like little girls with nothing anywhere near that ugly. I guess you don't end up with all those scars being a cry baby. Stiff upper lip, eh?” Jack did not know how to respond to this comment, so he said nothing. “OK, good job, Doc.” Dr. Berkson said, nodding at Stephen. “Keep up the good work and I’ll see you next Monday.”

“I do not think much of this modern medicine.” Jack said. “I think you are a much better doctor, Stephen.”

“Well, I thank you, soul.”

“Can’t they just let some blood and be done with it? Dose me, give me a cathartic and set to me to rights? Instead we are in this goddamned tube, which looks like bloody quackery to me. I should prefer your physic infinitely.”

“Your arm is better now, Jack. At least it is somewhat better.” There was almost no necrosis for Stephen to debride with the kit the wound care specialist had given him. He dressed it twice a day, checking it very carefully.

“All those pills.” Jack said in disgust. He was taking eighteen pills a day.

“You need to eat more, Jack. Far more, particularly flesh and fish to heal the wound. Must I feed you myself?”

“We could go out to dinner.” Jack said. “By God, I long for a succulent spotted dog or a drowned baby and there is none to be had.” He took Stephen’s hand. “Shall we go home and eat there or go out to dinner?"

“Out to dinner.”

“Why are there no British taverns? Every other eating house under the sun, even Irish public houses. No offense to you, Stephen, but is our English food not as good or even better than Irish food?”

“There is supposed to be one at Faneuil Hall, but no one who is actually British believes the food is like British food. Shall we try it? But, Jack, it is twenty-first century British, not eighteenth century. It is India curry and food from China. There is nothing that we should recognize as British cuisine, as far as I know. I looked on the computing machine and found nothing. Every place that claims to have English food is also supposed to have Irish food and it is nothing I should recognize as English or Irish, except for the brands of beer served.”

“What?” Jack cried, horror stricken. "Is there no such thing as English food now? Not even English breakfast?" He looked so crestfallen that Stephen regretted his honesty.

"The other common British public house in America serves fried fish and fried potatoes, not, I believe, as either of us has ever eaten them."

"It is absurd, but I have to remind myself how fortunate we are not to be starving on Desolation. Would you have preferred it if we ended up in France, Stephen? Or Catalonia? Surely the food would be better. I wonder what is left of your castle."

"We can travel, soul. We are not prisoners here. Anywhere you want to go is a possibility. We have eighteen thousand dollars now. We can actually go in one of those flying machines. People now say it is the safest way to travel."

"What about our identity papers? Will those pink cards suffice?"

"Green cards, Jack."

"But they are pink."

“They are pink, but they call them green cards. I would assume they used to be green. I do not know. I will ask Katharine about what we should need.”

 

_**2 December 2013** _

_**Jack’s condition is worsened. We go to see Dr. Berkson every Monday and every Monday there is no improvement, even as there is no infection. The lack of infection is chiefly, perhaps, because of the hyperbaric chamber. I notice my own health improved by sitting with Jack every week, all my old wounds marvelously healed from the high saturation of oxygen in my tissues. I am forced to speculate how much Jack’s despair at our situation is contributing to his failure to heal. There is no hope of us going to England outside of Jack sailing Mr. Dupont’s yacht; it is quite impossible for us to get passports. Katharine told me it was because of the tragedy of September 11. I asked her why Barcelona falling to Philip V of Spain in 1714 after fourteen months of siege should affect us getting passports and she looked at me very strangely indeed.** _

_**I must attempt to persuade Jack to allow Dr. Berkson to amputate his right arm. I have little hope of success in doing so. I saw this phenomenon frequently in the almost twenty years that I practised medicine, the importance of the patient's belief in the ability of his physician, the belief in the efficacy of the treatment, for it to be successful. Such is the entire mechanism of the placebo. Belief may be the overriding factor in whether a cure is effected, beyond any reasonable explanation. Patient beliefs tend to be self-fulfilling.** _

_**Jack has no faith in Dr. Berkson and none in the hospital, despite all evidence to the contrary of the extraordinary achievements of modern medicine. His visceral response to seeing me comatose with tubes in my body and being kept from me those two and a half hours seemed to have brought this result. He has a complete horror of being separated from me in the hospital's offices, no matter for how short a duration. His faith in me, on the other hand, is infinite. He would gladly hand me a cleaver and lie down on the floor without a second of hesitation. The sicker he gets, the more desirous he is that I should just treat him, damn the consequences. Such a thing is utterly impossible.** _

_**He says over and over that he shall defer to my judgement, but the answer is then inevitably no. I hope he will forgive me when he awakens in hospital, because I should have to die first myself before I should sit by and do nothing and let him die. What troubles me greatly is that his arm is free of infection yet does not heal and no amount of treatment has moved it in the right direction. It is as though it is very slowly disintegrating before my eyes, unknitting, unravelling. I have never seen such a thing and given that no one can ascertain the cause, I fear that the stump should never heal.** _

 

Jack was asleep when Stephen entered the bedroom and he sat down and felt his forehead. He was not febrile. Stephen took his left hand.

"Jack..." he said softly. Jack started.

"I shall be right up!" Jack said, sitting up.

"Shh, soul, you are in your bed in Boston. There is no rush." Stephen turned the bedside table lamp on.

"What time is it?"

"Seven-ish. Jack, I have a treat for you. A surprise." He picked the tray up from the bureau and brought it to the bed. Jack squinted at it.

"What is that?"

"Your fellow Boston-area reenactors are aficionados of Royal Navy cuisine. I am no hand with cookery but Katharine helped me to make the acquaintance of some would-be ship's cooks and their great appreciation for your outstanding talent as an interpretive guide led them to this meal for you, the dears." Stephen left out the fact that they were all women and all apparently greatly enamoured of Jack's person, having met him on the _Constitution_ , posting photos of themselves standing with him in their Facebook group. He had achieved minor celebrity status in Boston during the summer after being featured in the _Boston Globe's_ “Weekend” section. "Be generous in your assessment, they are but a passel of poor twenty-first century Americans and tis perhaps as difficult as it would be for us to make garum a la Byzantium." He cut a piece of the first dish, speared it with the fork and gave the fork to Jack who ate it, considering.

"Stephen, did they tell you what the menu was?"

"I believe I remember. How is it?"

"Did you get any wine, perchance? Is there any claret?"

"No, soul, I regret it extremely." Stephen said, not mentioning that Jack could not have it with oxycodone.

"I believe this is soused pig's face. Bless you, Stephen, that was most kind of you. May I have some more, if you please?" Stephen took the fork and cut more and gave it back to Jack.

"There is a veal pasty, some potatoes, some peas and a pudding."

"A pudding!" Jack said and his eyes shone and his entire face lit up. "How capital!"

"I give you joy of your pudding, my dear." Stephen cut the soused pig's face up in its entirety so Jack could eat it with one hand. "Jack, Katharine tells me that you will get paid if you ask for something called "disability." Oh, by the way, some young ladies sent you this to try." He handed what appeared to be some type of round bread to Jack.

"What is it?"

“It is ship's biscuit." Jack looked at it, touched it and laughed until the tears ran down his face."

"Stephen, you must try some, I insist."

"Pray, what is so amusing?"

"They made weevil holes in it with a fork." Jack said sputtering with laughter. “Of course, it is nothing whatever like ship’s biscuit.” He knocked it against the plate on its edge and laughed as no bargemen fell out.”Do you not find the world disturbingly free of pests? The ship has nothing alive on it. It is the strangest thing. I have seen very few rats around the Navy Yard. Only gulls in as great number as in our time.”

“It is truly strange. I wonder if all the world is like this now. One would assume the world to be more salubrious for their absence, but I wonder that there is not some toxic substance poisoning everything thus resulting in the dearth of vermin."

“Stephen, I must rest.” Jack said, laying back.

“You rest, soul, I shall help you. You merely wave your hand when you want to stop.” Stephen said, taking the fork from him.

“May I try the pudding now, if you please?”

“Certainly.” Stephen rose and got the plate with the pudding and cut off a slice, cut it again and put the fork to Jack’s lips. Jack took it and considered and smiled

“Stephen, it is spotted dog."

“How is it?”

“It is quite good. Something is not quite the thing, but quite good indeed.” Stephen fed him more.

“Soul, we need to talk.” Stephen said, when he had stuffed as much food into Jack as he possibly could. “Dr Berkson is most unhappy with your arm and I tend to concur. You are so sick, he did not wish to trouble you with a lot of prattle but he thinks the time has come. He wished me to speak to you. You do not need that arm to live and Nelson had a very distinguished career without the same and an eye in the bargain. You are perhaps not getting much worse, but neither are you getting better at all.”

“Stephen, if you should tell me I must do it, I should do so in a heartbeat, but honestly, do you think that taking it off, it shall ever heal? Is there any reason to think it should ever heal?” Stephen looked at him very somberly.

“Of course, I cannot say.” Stephen said slowly.

“Stephen, I have known you long enough to know an evasion.” Jack said. “I am not impressed with these doctors. You are far better than they. They have advantages we cannot even begin to understand or appreciate and we go there every week and my arm is no better.”

“I read of what they do now and I am staggered. Utterly staggered. They do surgery with no pain. You can sleep through the entire process and feel nothing."

“I think of what you do on board ship with no hospital and I am staggered. I would take one of you over ten of them."

“Faith, I am honoured and humbled by your high opinion of me, Jack.” He took Jack’s left hand in his and held it. “Do you remember what you thought after I was struck by the bus? Do you remember the pathos you felt ?” Jack looked up at him.”I fear you will get much worse very quickly. I fear if we hesitate, you will lose more than your arm. I fear I will lose all that I care for in the world. Jack, at home I should never speak to you in such a way, but we are not at home. We could never be any farther from home. I would not leave you alone here for the world. For anything. You may be so sick they will not let me be with you, if you are not coherent.” Stephen kissed his hand. “Jack, I do not want you to die. I do not want to be left alone here. The thought of it...” He broke off.

“Stephen, I should do whatever you say but I do not wish to die in hospital here and I have the feeling I shan’t be ever leaving, once they take off my arm. Is there any reason to believe the wound will heal should they take it off? Is there anything more that could done? There is no infection, so they keep saying.” Jack sighed. “If we were back on board the _Java_ , I should tell you to go ahead and take it off with every confidence that I should be fine. There is something unhealthful about this time, at least unhealthful to me. Come lie next to me, Stephen. I am so very tired.” Stephen moved the tray and lay next to him, propped up on the pillows. “Tis so cold now, I wish we were in your house in Spain,” Jack said, sleepily. “You were so good to me, Stephen and I knew everything would be fine because I was with you. As long as I am with you, I am always fine in the end.”

****

**_December 16, 2013_ **

**_Jack worsens. He still will not consent to surgery. I have discussed the situation with Katharine and she printed documents for us that are legal instruments -- power of attorney, health care proxy and something called an advanced directive. Mr. Brown is a notary public and came with his seals with Katharine to notarise Jack's signature on a document that will authorise me to sign consent documents for his surgery at the hospital. I must merely bring them with me when he is admitted. True to form, Jack signed everything without reading any of it. He is not in his right mind and will not consent, so I will be forced to wait until the very last moment, when he is so sick that he has no idea what is happening, the very worst circumstance. What other choice do I have? The prospect of losing him is more than I can bear._ **

 

When Jack woke up, Stephen brought up going to the hospital again.

"I cannot see what possible difference it will make one way or the other." Jack said. "I am sorry, Stephen. I am more sorry than you could possibly imagine. I would give this arm and my leg into the bargain for it to not be so. I saw what they did to you in that hospital and the idea of dying alone like that is a fate worse than death itself."

"You would have a chance to survive. A chance. Is a chance not infinitely better than no chance? Your arm can get gangrene at any moment, Jack and it is horrendous, worse than anything you could imagine." Jack said nothing. "We can go to England. Katharine is so very, very clever and she knows so many people. If it can be done, she will find a way. And what are papers, a passport compared to the unimaginable wonders of the twenty-first century, artificial hearts and computing machines or men going to the moon? We might even go on Mr. Dupont’s yacht once you have convalesced. But you must live, Jack, you must do everything to that end. These doctors are like true gods, God forgive my blasphemy, but gangrene is gangrene." Stephen stroked his hair."If not for yourself, then for me as I have never asked you for anything, Jack. I am begging you. I should never do such a thing at home, or should I say in our time. But in our time, you trusted my judgment without reservation."

"I trust you without reservation. You may have my arm off here any time you please." Stephen rubbed his eyes.

"We are past that. If it were I to do it, I should have done it months ago, my dear. Many, many months ago, before June 1. I cannot do it; it is impossible, Jack. If there were any way I could, I would. I have no instruments, no supplies, no assistants and no drugs and no means of procuring even one of them. I am not a murderer. These physicians can do the inconceivable. They can take a portrait of the heart of a baby inside its mother's womb and do surgery on it before it is born. They can take a heart from someone who just died and put in someone else's body to save them. They can transplant a face onto a person who lost his in battle. Jack, you should trust Dr. Berkson. He is one of the best surgeons in the world."

"Stephen, when the bus struck you, I was forced to lie to the clerk in the hospital in order to be with you and I was kept from you for over two hours. What is to prevent me from dying without you there, surrounded by strangers and with half a dozen of those tubes stuck inside my body? They can refuse to let you be there. The fact that you are my particular friend means nothing to them. Nothing we hold sacred seems to mean anything to them. They are not like us. They are pleasant and genial enough, but in many ways, they are barbarians. Stephen, you would never keep a man from his tiemate if he were in extremis, at the point of death. You would never separate a man from his dearest friend in the hour of his greatest need. Here, you have no right as we understand it and they consider you a stranger to me. We are nothing to each other according to them, nothing. Stephen, I am not afraid of dying, I am not afraid even of going to Hades, God forbid. But I cannot face dying alone with these people, these strangers doing terrible things to my body with their tubes and their machines. I should rather die like Nelson, in my own bed with you next to me. Pray forgive me, Stephen. I am so sorry.” Jack said and he started to weep.

“Jack, we can find out what we need to do so that they shall not keep me away from you. Whatever it takes. We can ask Dr. Berkson. Jack, I should do anything, absolutely anything. Any legal formality that needs to be addressed shall be. I shall ask Katharine directly.” He wiped Jack’s eyes. “Pray do not vex yourself so, dearest soul. Surely we have not come this far together to be parted. Surely not.”

 

**24 December 2013**

 

Stephen opened the door and smiled when he saw Katharine.

“Come in, friend.” She brought three boxes with her, one very large.

“Merry Christmas. Here is your Christmas dinner. I hope Jack likes goose.”

“How very kind you are. I am most obliged, Katharine, dear." Stephen said, his nose taking in the unctuous scent of stuffed goose.

“How is he?”

“He is asleep. Not good, truth be told. He begins to have pneumonia, I believe. I appreciate you bringing this feast. He will at least be well fed, the creature, whether he likes it or not.”

“And you, Stephen? You have lost weight yourself.”

“Not so much. It shows fast on me, being smaller to begin with. Katharine, how did you manage these invoices when your husband was sick? The amounts cannot be correct. I puzzle over them, I cannot ask Jack and he has no head for such a thing in any case, his wife dealt with the vast majority of it.”

“You two have MassHealth, the health insurance?” Stephen shrugged.

“Jack does. But still the amounts. Dr. Berkson has never said a word, the receiving lady never a word, but it would appear that we owe them perhaps $50,000. Your husband was sick a very long time, was it comparable?”

“Oh, yes. Do not worry about the bills, Stephen. The adjusters will go through them over and over. Try not to think about them at all. As long as they will keep treating Jack.”

“It is the not the bills Dr. Berkson has expressed irritation with. He is, I believe, quite frustrated and disgusted with me that I have not yet convinced Jack to have his arm off. He told me that he had no desire to sign a death warrant by prescribing more medicine without a comprehensive treatment plan. He told me that he had no intention to be sued for malpractise because of a patient who will not listen to reason. He gave me a deadline of New Year's or said we should look for a new doctor, if Jack lives that long.”

“Jack still won’t agree to it?”

“No. I cannot in good faith tell him it will definitely save his life. I wish I could. It will have to be a matter of when he is in extremis, the worst possible situation. What other choice do I have? I am a physician, I cannot sit and watch him die and do nothing. He would do the same with me, God forgive me. He is nowhere in his right mind.”

“I made him figgy dowdy and plum duff.” She smiled. “I hope it’s reasonably authentic. If not, you can blame the internet.”

“That is too good of you, Katharine. Pray sit down.” He took the boxes from her and put them in the kitchen and came and joined her on the settee. She gave him a little box.

“This is not much, but I saw it and thought of you and Jack.” He opened it and there were two small gold medallions in the box.

“I have never seen such a thing.”

“It’s Saint Christopher, patron saint of sailors.”

“So I see -- in English. That is so novel to me. Thank you so very much, Katharine. Do Protestants carry these?”

“I don’t know.” She smiled. “Most Catholics in America are English monoglots now. It is not unusual, in America, indeed, more the rule than the exception. Do you want me to stay with Jack so you can go to Mass tonight?”

“Oh, no. That is very kind of you. With the blessing, I shall go when Jack is better. I very rarely have made it to Mass at Christmas, we are usually at sea. Shall you be having something to drink, then, Katharine? I have a bottle of indifferent port and a far better bottle of sherry.”

“Thank you, Stephen, but no, I must go.” She said, standing up. “I go to see my mother and sisters and my nieces now.”

“Happy Christmas, my dear and a very Happy New Year to you.”

“Happy Christmas to you and please give Jack my regards.” She said clasping his hand at the door.

 

_**30 December 2013** _

__

_**Katharine,** _

_**Jack is extremely ill -- the time has come. If I am not here when you call, we are most certainly at Massachusetts General Hospital. Pray be so good as to come by there as soon as ever you might. The key is under the mat. If you would be so good as to bring me the books on the left side of the bed, I should be infinitely obliged.** _

_**Stephen** _

 

"Jack, be reasonable, I beg. Do you remember your sentiments in the hospital when you thought I should die and you would be left alone here?" Stephen said.

"It seems I am beyond the reach of their physic, Stephen. It don’t answer. I have tried, old fellow. I tried and tried." Jack said, putting his shirt on very slowly and wincing in pain as he rolled the sleeve up around his bandaged arm.

"You must go back to bed. You are delirious." Jack looked at him.

"Do this for me, Stephen, as I have never asked anything of you and I have loved you for so very long. Do this for me, brother. Do not deny me.”

"Tis bitterly cold and snowing. For all love, neither of us has a great coat nor even a boat cloak to wear over our clothes. We cannot wear these parkas, they are too tight to fit over our clothes." In great pain, Jack put his uniform coat on over his left arm and draped it over his shoulder and then reached for his hat.

"Pray walk with me to the ship, Stephen."

"How shall you walk anywhere? Jack, do not do this to me, I beg. It is not too late. We can be at the hospital in five minutes." Jack bent down and kissed him.

"My very dearest Stephen, I love you more than anything but I should rather die like a man on the deck of a man of war than in a hospital bed anywhere at any time. It is fitting if I die on _Constitution_ , since she is the reason I was wounded.” Stephen knew the hopelessness of arguing with him and put on his own coat.

They walked in silence down the hill to the Navy Yard. The streets were almost deserted as the snow fell heavily. Stephen had decided that he would accost a passerby with a mobile phone to call 9-1-1 as soon as Jack lost consciousness. He hoped they would make it to the ship so he would technically have kept his promise. He shivered in his coat, breeches, stockings, and waistcoat. They did not seem like his clothes any more, after six months of jeans and t-shirts. He had put them on to humour Jack. He clutched the medal Katharine had given him in his hand in the pocket of his coat. St. Christopher, patron saint of mariners, sailors and travellers and then realized he had left the healthcare proxy in their apartment. He hoped Katharine would find it when she came by.

Jack said nothing. All his concentration was being employed in walking. He leaned on Stephen. "Dear God, he is so thin now." Stephen thought. "As thin as when we were picked up by the _Java_. My poor Jack.”

They finally arrived at the ship. Since their first week in June, it was the first time they had ever boarded her on a Monday. Jack had not seen her in over three weeks, he had been so ill, he had not been able to leave the bed. The gangway had a locked gate.

"Be a fellow and bear a hand, Stephen."

"You cannot think of ascending via a backstay? Jack, you are so weak that you shall fall and drown."

"I am much lighter, as well." Jack said, evenly.

"Only one arm is functional."

"Stephen, I hate to do this to you and you must clap on for all you are worth. I cannot dive in and save you now. Stay with me now. I shall go very slowly." Jack did go very slowly, so slowly that Stephen could have easily passed him. To Stephen, it felt like it had taken hours. Finally they were on deck and Jack painfully saluted the quarterdeck. Stephen checked his Breguet. It was 8:35 p.m.

"She is so beautiful, Stephen. Not as beautiful as _Surprise_ or _La Flèche_ or a dozen others I can think of, more of a workhorse, but infinitely more beautiful than a goddamned aircraft carrier or a nuclear submarine." They crossed the deck. Jack's face was deathly pale. Their boots made crunching noises in the snow. Stephen looked down and noticed a trail of blood in the snow at Jack’s side. His shirt was soaked with blood on the sleeve. Stephen knew there was an ancient hard wired phone on the gundeck. He had seen it back in June at Mrs. Adam's desk. Surely Jack would lose consciousness soon and he could make the call and they would be at Massachusetts General in a very few minutes.

Jack pushed the snow away from the deck with his boot.

"Poor old lady. It makes me sad to see her this way, no one swabbing her decks and all alone." Jack said. “Tis a damned shame.”

"Can we end this folly now, my dear? At least go below deck, out of the snow? Go to Bainbridge’s cot?"

But they were not alone. A guard of some type was quickly approaching them.

"The ship is closed. You are trespassing."

"My dear fellow, we are the reenactors -- the reenactors, the interpretive guides. The Captain," Stephen nodded toward Jack, "left some of his property on the ship and," this in a hiss, "he is extremely ill, delirious, in fact. I had to humour him by coming here with him."

"Put your hands up."

"He cannot put his hands up, he is, as you can see, bleeding copiously from his arm. Thank God you are here, my dear Sir, to be of assistance.” In his six months of living in the future, Stephen had never seen or read about a Taser. He assumed that no member of any civilized armed force in the world would ever attack an unarmed or obviously injured man."If you have a telephone or radio, do be so good as to telephone 9-1-1, if you please," he said, leaning over to catch Jack in his arms and ease him as gently as he could, as Jack sank to the deck. Then 50,000 volts of electricity entered Stephen’s person in his neck and all was black yet again.

“Aw, shit.” The guard said and went below to get the defibrillation and first aid kits. When he returned, the blood was all over the snow but his prisoners were gone and there were no footprints, just a pool of blood, Jack's and Stephen's blood mingled on _Constitution’s_ deck.

The first thing Stephen noticed was the warmth, the tropical heat that was like a balm against his chilled legs. The next thing was that Jack was surely bleeding to death on top of him as he lay on the deck, his own head throbbing and his nose bleeding.

“Below decks! Get them down to the cockpit!” He heard a voice, a strangely archaic American voice say. And then they were surrounded and Jack was being lifted off of him and they were both being gently carried below decks.

“What a strange, strange dream,” Stephen thought, feeling the punctures on his neck. “Jack must have collapsed on me and knocked me out momentarily.” He sat up and looked at how pale Jack was. Mr. Evans was there peering at him. “Doctor Maturin, have you your wits about you? We must attend to your friend immediately.”

“I concur.” Stephen said. “Have you instruments I may use? I have none. I did him up momentarily on the _Java_ , but the wound is very bad.” He reached into his pocket to look for his lancet and pulled out a very cold gold piece of metal the size of a shilling. He looked at it. One one side there was a picture of St. Christopher carrying the Christ Child with “Saint Christopher Protect Us” in English around the periphery and on the other side it was engraved “Godspeed.” Again, Stephen thought of the strange dreams and wondered at the medal and why he felt as though he were missing a watch. He dropped the the medal in his attempt to put it back in his pocket and turned his attention entirely to Jack’s arm.

 


End file.
